


Into the Woods

by RedEyedRyu



Category: Horrortale - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood, Dark fic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gaslighting, Gore, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sans is a nasty bastard, Somnophilia, Soul Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEyedRyu/pseuds/RedEyedRyu
Summary: He tells you he loves you—calls you his "Pumpkin".He won't let you leave.|A Horrortale drabble series|





	1. No Warning

**Author's Note:**

> **SO!** Very important notice but PLEASE tread carefully. I intend for this to be a rather dark fic and a place where I can test out dark themes and sensitive content. I do not condone the actions characters take in this story.
> 
> Chapter length will vary between 100 to 1000 words. All chapters take place within the same story and, for the most part, play out in sequential order. I plan on updating this fic sporadically throughout the month of October.

No one had warned you against camping in the woods. No ominous foreshadowing, no cryptic messages or ill-begotten warnings about malevolent things looking to snatch you up.

No, all those you had told merely wished you well, told you to have fun and enjoy your trip. Of course there were the well wishes to “be safe” and “take care” but that's what everyone always says, like they're reading off a pre-arranged script.

It was nothing short of normal.

So how could you have foreseen things would turn out this way?

How could you have known you’d meet your worst nightmare?


	2. Ichor

The room is dark, cold, and smells… _ off _ . You can't quite place what it is about the scent but something in the back of your mind tells you _ this isn't normal; this isn't safe. _

You try to push the thought away, further and deeper into your subconscious, and instead focus on the only point of interest—the only thing you can make out—in this cold and unfamiliar room.

There's a thin line of soft, golden light trailing along the floor, a faint outline of a door.

A way out?

…

…

… 

Or is it some kind of trick? Some kind of _ trap? _

He’s probably waiting for you on the other side.

A shiver races through your entire body, quickly followed by another, and another, and another—they just won't stop! You're a trembling mess and you don't even know why.

<strike>You know why, you just don't want to admit the truth.</strike>

The sound of the floorboards creaking somewhere off a ways reaches your ears. You strain them to listen, muscles tensing and shoulders pulling in. You don't even realize you're holding your breath.

The footsteps are getting closer.

And closer…

And closer…

They stop right outside the door.

Your teeth are clenching so hard, your nails biting into your arms as you desperately try to sink in on yourself.

You jolt when the door slowly _ c r e a k s _ open.

It’s him. The skeleton with the manic grin and the smashed in skull and a single, bloated eye-light that shines an ethereal crimson. He’s backlit from the golden glow of the hallway, his front falling into heavy shadows. But even then you can make it out—the innumerable stains all over his grimy, tattered shirt. And then it clicks. _ That’s _ what you're smelling.

The copper stench of blood.

Death stands before you, bathed in it.

And he’s smiling wide.


	3. Found

“_ p u m p k i n _ .”

You didn’t think it possible, but at the mere sound of his voice your trembling increases. Your teeth are chattering and your eyes are watering.

_ How did he find you? _

“what’re ya doin’ in here?” He leers down at you, that crimson eye of his casting a haunting, blood-red light over his skull.

Your mouth is so dry. It hurts to swallow.

You don’t respond.

“you’re not supposed to be in here,” he tells you and you want to run, to flee back through the hole in the wall you had crawled into this room from. You had been so proud of yourself, had thought you had found a way out—a merciful escape from the prison this deranged skeleton had thrown you into. Clearly, you had been wrong.

You manage to tear your watering eyes away from the skeleton, a desperate attempt at locating another route of escape.

If you bolted fast enough, could you make it past him?

And just as you shift your gaze, it catches on something that makes your skin tingle and your hairs stand on end.

The skeleton wasn't the only thing covered in blood.

There’s a severed arm just to the side of the door. A leg. You’re not sure if that head is connected to a torso or not, long brown hair cascading around it like some kind of morbid curtain. The longer you stare, the more pieces there seem to be.

Just how many people have fallen victim to this maniac?

_ Are you next? _

Bile rises in the back of your throat, an acidic taste tinging your tongue. You’re going to throw up._ You’re going to- _

“oh, pumpkin,” the skeleton coos as you retch on the floor. “see, this’s why i told ya to stay put.”

You don’t see him move but suddenly he’s squatting beside you, boney phalanges rubbing at your back. Some sick mockery of sympathy—as if he actually cares about you. Your skin prickles where he touches. You want to shove him away, want to get as far away from him as possible, but you can barely even muster the strength to support yourself on your shaking arms. Tears fall freely from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks in unrestrained rivulets.

“c’mon,” he says, “let’s getcha somewhere cozy.”

You don’t have the strength to fight him off.

He takes you to his room.


	4. Comfortless

His room is far from cozy.

It’s freezing cold and reeks of iron—of death and rot. Clothes and garbage are strewn about and his bed is an absolute _ mess_.

Your skin tingles when you catch sight of the ax resting against his nightstand. It looks very well used. You don't think too hard on the rust-colored stains that mar its surface.

He carries you to his bed, shoving a few questionable objects from its surface before laying you down. You huddle against the wall, nearly pressing yourself against it. You try not to flinch as he crawls in beside you.


	5. Ill Will

Like everything else in this godforsaken place, his scratchy blanket totes a rather pungent stench.

You don't want to be here, laying beside the monster that spirited you away, that’s _keeping you against your will._

You want nothing more than to push him away, to make him hurt and suffer. To subject him to even a fraction of what he has put you through. Maybe you could bash his skull in with the ax not even five feet away.

Wouldn't that be spectacular?

But the way he has you caged against his chest, legs tangled, leaves you short on options.


	6. Relax

“just relax,” he coos to you. He’s running his disgusting phalanges through your hair, a mockery of a comforting lover. “i’ve gotcha.”

Why is he doing this? Why is he so  _ infatuated _ with you?

Is this some kind of sick game he plays with those he snares in this forest? God, you shouldn't have come here.

Your chest aches as you ruminate on your situation. If you clench your teeth any harder, you chance cracking a tooth. You hate this so much; you hate  _ him _ so much.

You startle when something brushes against your cheek.

“ya don't needa cry, pumpkin.”


	7. Foreboding

He’s brushing away tears you hadn't even realized were falling. He takes a moment to just rub at the apples of your cheeks but when his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, you _freeze_.

Tension and dread twist in your gut.

You hold your breath and a shudder races down your spine when you hear him groan. He nuzzles the top of your head, pressing you ever closer to his chest.

“i’ll take good care of ya,” he all but purrs.

You're not sure whether he means that as a promise or a threat. Either way, it doesn't bode well.


	8. Languish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please check the updated warnings, tags, and rating!!!  
This story is diving head-first into darker subject matter starting with the next chapter.  
Please take heed.**

He keeps petting you, running his phalanges through your hair before pulling his hand back to the crown of your head. You want him to _stop touching you._

"relax, pumpkin," your captor purrs. You bite at your lip, brow furrowing in frustration.

Like hell you can.

He's cooing nonsense into your ear and forcing unwanted nuzzles. Despite your insistence to stay awake, to not let your guard down, you feel your body starting to betray you. The soft vibrations of his purrs, the repetitive motion of his disgusting phalanges working through your hair eventually lull you into an uneasy sleep.


	9. Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** There is non-consensual touching in this chapter.  
The descent begins.

_You're sitting on a log, poking at the fire with a stick you had drudged up from the forest just at the edge of your camp. The soft orange glow of the fire and the comforting warmth it emanates is like a blanket, chasing away the darkness and everything wrong with the world._

_You smile softly and bask in the fire's light._

_You love this feeling—it's why you came out here: to get away from the stresses of everyday life._

_You wrap your arms around yourself, bending forward as you close your eyes._

_The distant sound of a twig snapping in the forest reaches your ears. You flinch, the motion entirely involuntary, but otherwise ignore it. Sure you're alone, but in these woods, you're never _really _alone—you know that. It's just the local wildlife, you tell yourself, whatever it is won't come near your camp with the fire going as it is, and besides, that had sounded quite a ways off._

_As several minutes pass in silence, you let the tension ease from you, once again basking in the warmth from the fire._

"pumpkin..."

_Another twig snaps._

"don't worry..."

_The fire abruptly snuffs out._

"just let me do this," _a muted voice rumbles, as if filtered through cotton, _"'m gonna make you feel real good."

_There's a pressure at your chest, heavy and constricting._

_You can't breathe. You can't open your eyes. Everything feels so _cold_._

"good girl,"_ that voice continues, _"you're doin' so well..."

* * *

You've fallen asleep, Sans notices with a soft grin. What a good mate, letting him comfort you like this. His hands wander from where they lay wrapped around your upper arms down the length of them, to the swell of your breasts, then over your hips. He pauses his wandering to rub a phalanx over the crest of your hip, enjoying the feeling of the bone that lies beneath such a thin layer of flesh.

His claws twitch, the tips digging into your skin, and you whimper softly. His crimson gaze drifts to your face—you're still dead asleep. His grin stretches, his claws biting deeper, piercing flesh. Small ruby droplets rush to greet him and he feels his mind fuzzing over as another whimper slips from between your lips.

Stars he _loves_ the sounds you make.

_more,_ his Soul demands._ i need more._

Sans resumes his inquisitive wandering, brushing his hands to your thighs, tracing the curve of your flesh towards the apex of your legs. He shifts, carefully easing you onto your back. You grumble and sigh at the motion but otherwise remain oblivious to what is happening.

"such a perfect little mate," he rumbles as he settles himself over your hips. He props himself over you, arms on either side of your shoulders as he leans down to bury his face into your chest. He takes in a heavy inhale, reveling in your scent—so strong and laced with fear. The smell alone is _intoxicating_.

His phalanges dip under your shirt and slowly, he pushes the soiled fabric up, up, up, stopping as it bunches over your breasts. You're wearing a bra but that's easy enough to get rid of. His claws make quick work of the fabric and it's tossed to the side. Your shirt quickly follows.

"pumpkin..." he utters the moniker almost reverently as he once again buries his face against your now naked chest. You're so _warm._

Slowly, _reluctantly_, he pulls himself from between your breasts, his weight settling heavy on your hips. He draws a hand to your chest, hovering just over where your Soul lies hidden, and _pulls_, his phalanges curling and his single crimson eye bloating wide.

"don't worry," he coos to you as you start to struggle in your sleep, your face scrunching and your breath beginning to speed up in short gasps. "just let me do this," he says, his tone shifting to that of a rumbling growl. There's a chilling, cerulean mist snaking from his hands, down sharpened distals hovering just above you. The magic drifts lethargically along your supple flesh, smokey tendrils licking an invisible trail anywhere it can reach as it caresses your skin like a layer of dense, heavy fog before eventually seeping into your very being. It winds its way to your Soul, all but smothering it. "'m gonna make you feel real good."

If you would only just _let _him.

Why must humans always make things so _difficult?_

You whimper and buck your hips, forcing Sans to squeeze your thighs between his femurs to maintain his position. He funnels more magic around your resisting Soul. Sweat has started beading along his skull but he's nothing if not stubborn.

It pays off, as _finally _your Soul drifts from its corporeal prison to float between the two of you. Sans's grin nearly splits his skull.

"good girl," he affirms, drawing the shimmering heart-shaped Soul to his teeth and brushing a chaste kiss against its surface. He chuckles at the keening moan you let loose at the action. You squirm but remain locked in your slumber. "you're doin' so well..."

And you are. So well, in fact, that he feels you need a proper reward.

His jaw creaks open, releasing a glowing blue tongue from its depths. He brings your Soul to his mouth and drags his tongue from the bottom tip to the very top, laving the valley between the arches of the heart.

He can't help but chuckle at the way your breath hitches, the way your body wriggles beneath him. He has to lock his femurs against your plush thighs once again to ensure he isn't bucked off, the action stirring his own Soul. His magic pulses and he can feel it starting to gather in his pelvis, forming the perfect treat for his human.

With a wicked grin his conjured tongue wraps around your Soul and pulls it into his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any prompts or scenarios you would like to see, feel free to request/suggest things in the comments.


End file.
